Orion Rising
by swik
Summary: Outdoors on a winter's night with only the constellations for company. Post-episode for "The Toy House." (M/M)
1. Part 1

Title: Orion Rising

Author:  swik 

Summary: Outdoors on a winter's night with only the constellations for company.  Post-episode for "The Toy House."

Disclaimer:  Nope.  I don't own 'em.  Jason Katims had the idea -- I'm just test-driving it.  Thanks to the swell folks at Regency and the WB for their creative vision and willingness to take risks.  Majandra Delfino and Brenden Fehr are the heart and soul of Maria and Michael.  Without them, there'd be no story to tell.  This short piece of fiction is for entertainment purposes only and no infringement is intended.  A great big pat on the back is all I'll ever get for it.  ::sigh::

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"Only solitary men know the full joys of friendship. Others have their family-but to a solitary and an exile his friends are everything."

-- Willa Cather

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She had just left the Crashdown when he found her.

It was late Sunday afternoon.  Maria was tired, having spent the past eight hours on her feet listening to snippets of every inane conversation known to humankind.  Now, her head was awhirl with the usual assortment of priorities.  She tucked away her work persona and got ready to tackle whatever was left of the weekend.

About fifty or so pages of Steinbeck's "Grapes of Wrath" were waiting for her at home.  And she didn't want to think about the list of trig equations needing to be finished by fourth period tomorrow.  Besides which, she wouldn't even have the benefit of Liz as a diversion tonight.  The other girl was working the late shift at the diner. 

It was just as well anyway, Maria mused.  All Liz would want to talk about was the topic-of-the-month -- her break up with Max.  And that would inevitably lead to thoughts of Michael....

A now-familiar ache twisted in the pit of her stomach.  She began walking along Main Street, forcing his image from her mind and concentrating on thinking about nothing at all.

The dry winter wind felt decidedly nippy.  She'd neglected to bring a jacket along with her change of clothes when she'd shown up at work.  Afterward, she'd shed that silly "Close Encounters" knock-off uniform for a washed out pair of black jeans, shoes and a striped sweater that fit close, ending just above her beltline.

At least the sweater was long sleeved.  Because the cool air was stinging her cheeks and ruffling her short hair.  Maria gave the satchel over her shoulder a yank and hunched determinedly against the breeze.

It was just a few more yards till she reached the end of the block where she'd parked her mother's car....

She heard the low metallic groan of Max's jeep shifting gears before she actually saw it.  Her insides shrank in response.  The thought of forcing herself to smile, wave and perhaps even exchange pleasantries with him was not an appealing one.  As it was, she felt neither friendly nor charitable right now.

But she stopped and turned anyway as he pulled to the curb, prepared to honor her necessary social obligations.  She should at least be pleasant for Liz's sake.

Only it wasn't Max who was waiting for her.

Shit.

It was Michael.

He stared at her for a moment, raking her slim figure with a look of calculated insolence -- the one that made her ache to slap it off his face.

"Get in," he said tersely.

Maria was tempted to refuse, just to see the frustration explode in his eyes.  If nothing else, she'd have the benefit of knowing she'd put it there.

But then weariness overcame her.  All the exhaustion accumulated over the past few months since she and Liz had been forcibly initiated into the Secret Life of Max and Isabel Evans.

And Michael Guerin.

Frankly, Maria was tired of it all.  The shock of Liz's shooting.  The panic of knowing they weren't "alone" anymore in the unsuspecting halls of West Roswell High.  The chaos caused by her reluctant attraction to Michael.  The heartbreak of his continued indifference.

Now, here he was, in Max's jeep, demanding she get in without so much as a simple greeting -- as though nothing could possibly be more important.

Maria closed her eyes against the vision of him sitting in front of her, waiting.  She shook her head.  

Resistance was futile.

With a quick sigh, she braced herself and rounded the front end before swinging up into the passenger seat next to him.

Michael didn't even have the decency to glance in her direction.  She knew it was only because he was so utterly certain of her compliance.

Damn him.

She shivered against the cold.  Michael seemed to catch the brief movement out of the corner of his eye.  He paused all of a sudden in the act of putting the jeep into gear.

"Cold?" he asked.

"No," Maria bit back, rolling her eyes at the miracle of his perception.  "I just have this deeply buried fear of getting into a vehicle with a potential serial killer."

As usual, Michael chose not to dignify the remark with an answer.  He simply shrugged out of his thick corduroy jacket and passed it to her without a word.

"No thanks," she said.

"Look, why does every conversation with you have to end up like a debate on 'Politically Incorrect?'" 

"It doesn't."

"Yes, it does."

"No."  Maria took a deep breath, trying to control her temper.  "It doesn't."

"Fine," he told her.  "Then just put on the fucking coat and stop thinking about it for once, okay?"

He was insufferable.  She hated him.  And she hated herself even more for putting up with this nonsense.

With a quick movement, Maria snatched the jacket out of his hands and stuffed her arms through the sleeves.  She met his eyes with a look like pure poison.

"If you order me around like that one more time," she said in a deadly soft tone, "I don't know what I'll do, but I'm very smart and you'll be very, very sorry."

Michael's lips quirked up with just the faintest shadow of a smile.

Was that a corresponding challenge she saw lurking in his eyes?  Or a glimmer of appreciation for her brief show of spine?

Either way, it didn't matter.  A more familiar mask of detachment slipped over his features.  Maria wondered if the trifling show of sentiment had occurred only in her mind.

"Whatever," was his only reply.  

Looking back at the street, Michael turned the wheel hard and drove away from the curb with a quick screech of tires.

She waited for him to say something else as they sped south along Main, heading for the highway.  But no further explanation appeared to be forthcoming.

Maria shoved away the strands of hair blowing about her face.  "You going to tell me what this is all about, Michael?" she asked after a while.  "Or is abduction really your preferred method of picking up chicks?"

"Don't flatter yourself," he snapped, glancing at the rear-view mirror.

That was it.  She'd had enough.

"Stop this thing."

"What?"  He pulled the jeep to a halt at the red light just before the junction with the highway.

"I said," she grabbed her satchel and prepared to jump free as the vehicle came to a standstill, "stop this thing.  I have the sudden overwhelming desire to get as far away from you on the planet as possible."

"Wait."  Michael reached for her, holding her back.

Maria looked down at his fingers where they rested on her forearm.  She let her eyes slowly drift up to his face.

He met the warning in her gaze without flinching.

"I'd like you to go somewhere with me." 

She stared at him.

"It's important," he said quietly, giving her arm a squeeze.  "I wouldn't ask otherwise."

No kidding, she thought.  Her anger melted away beneath the naked sincerity in his tone.  Blinking at him, she relaxed back in her seat.

He let her go with a small sigh of relief, just as the loud blare of a horn from behind startled them both.

The light was green.  Maria looked over her shoulder guiltily as the jeep shot forward.  Michael turned left, heading east on the highway for the outskirts of town -- to a place she couldn't even begin to guess at.  

For now, she was merely resigned to going wherever he might lead.

The last rays of the dying sun were at their backs.  They sped along the dark ribbon of road with the haunting melody of Creed on the radio.  She sank down in her seat, pulling the jacket around her more snugly and listening to the moody lyrics, trying work her thoughts back into some semblance of coherence. 

She could smell his unique scent embedded in the fabric -- a striking mixture of mint and spice that was somehow characteristic of all three of them.  

Isabel hid it with a daily dousing of CK.  But neither Max nor Michael were inclined towards that kind of exterior disguise.  And really, you had to get fairly up-close and personal to one of them to even notice it.

Up close, Maria thought.

And personal.

She closed her eyes.

Wearing Michael's coat was the next best thing to having his arms around her.  Even the trauma of the past few weeks hadn't been enough to blast those particular impressions from her psyche.

In the days since he'd been cured from the fever, she'd brought her attempts to reconnect with him to an abrupt halt.  The look he'd given her afterward in the cave with River Dog and the others had been layered with various shades of meaning.  Some she thought she'd understood.  Others she clearly hadn't.  Because he'd moved into Max and Isabel's embrace and Maria suddenly found herself feeling more isolated from him than ever.  

Then there was that brief accord between the two of them over her wood shop project.  He'd been willing to express his feelings about their relationship that one time, but he'd also made it perfectly clear that he didn't need her in his life.

Now when she saw him, Maria kept her expression neutral and her comments to a minimum.  

And the truth was, holding herself back was easier than she expected.  Because the horror of his unexpected trial at the hands of River Dog was not an experience she was in a hurry to repeat.

Seeing Michael upstairs in the Parkers' apartment with Isabel, burning up with fever, had been more frightening than anything she'd ever known.  More so than the time her mom had cracked up the car and landed in the hospital for a week.  Or even when Liz was shot in the Crashdown.  And the thought that a threat to his welfare could be greater than the regard she had for her mother and her closest friend was beyond unsettling.  

For once, Maria could understand why he had no problem holding himself so far apart from other people.  Things, it seemed, were a lot less complicated that way.

Ironically, the new lull between them seemed to provoke him more than their earlier fire.  He'd actually stooped to attending a basketball game with all of them.  In public.  And, she supposed, it was also the motivation behind this little trip they were taking this evening.

They were twelve or so miles outside Roswell now.  For a moment, Maria wondered if he was heading for the nearby state park.  But he passed the turnoff, leaving her clueless once again.

Finally, about two miles beyond the exit, Michael slowed abruptly.  He turned onto a dirt road and headed into the BLM lands surrounding the park. 

The ride was anything but smooth.  Maria reached forward to clutch at the cold metal bracketing the windshield, trying to hold herself in place.  The two of them were bounced about in their seats from the rough ground.

She was beginning to worry that he'd lost his way.  Yet a quick glance at his profile showed a look of determination, not confusion.  Pressing her lips together, she shook her head and managed to keep from granting him the satisfaction of asking.

Whatever daylight remained was fading quickly.  Maria wished he'd for god's sake just turn on the lights so they could see where they were going.

Then, he braked again, pulling off the road.  They kept driving for about a hundred yards over the flattened scrub until the jeep finally rolled to a stop.  

And Michael had reached his destination.

(To Be Cont'd)


	2. Part 2

The flat, featureless plains of southeastern New Mexico stretched out all around them.  In front, looking towards the east, a deep gorge bisected the terrain like a gaping wound cut into the earth.  They had parked about twenty or so feet from the edge.  

Far below, on the floor of the canyon, Maria could see a few sparse outlines of paloverde and mesquite trees being swallowed quickly by the growing darkness.  

The view was breathtaking.

A gust of wind blowing down from the north tickled her lips.  Her eyes smarted from the lack of moisture.  Still, she stared in wonder at the pastel panorama spread out before her.

Lavender and rose and pale blue slowly dissolved into the more uniform blackness of the night sky.  It darkened the chartreuse of the flat ground and the dusky ochre of the cliffs on the opposite side.  The first stars were beginning to wink and come alive over the southeastern horizon.

For a brief moment, Maria found herself completely amazed.  She'd spent her entire life growing up in Roswell without ever knowing this place existed.  

That Michael was familiar with it came as no surprise though.  She suspected he had enough secrets floating around in his head to keep a person busy at least twenty-four and seven for the next month.

"Stay here a second."  

Maria heard his voice in her ear; felt the fleeting warmth of his breath against her cheek.  She turned in time to catch the back of his head as he debarked.

He began walking in a pattern of growing circles next to the jeep, peering at the ground closely.

"What are you looking for?" she asked.

"Rattlesnakes." 

"Oh."

Apparently satisfied, he headed back towards the vehicle and motioned for her to get out.

Maria didn't say anything.  Instead, she picked her way over to the edge.  He backed off and leaned against the jeep.  Absently, she noted the snapping noise of the engine as it cooled, along with the lazy sound of the radio.  Michael reached over, turning it off and leaving the two of them in silence.

His coat was too big.  It hung loosely on her shoulders, forcing her to pull it closed.  The long sleeves engulfed her hands.

Even in the darkness, she could feel his eyes on her.  Maria looked back, lifting her chin against the proprietary nature of his stare.

Michael did that sometimes.  Looked at her as though she was his alone -- on a level so intense it was almost primal.  She would never, ever admit to anyone that the notion secretly thrilled her.  God, it had taken several days just to admit it to herself.

And he was doing it now.  Scoping her out, staking a claim.

A claim he had no right to anymore.

Despite the chill temperature, he looked comfortable standing there by the jeep without his jacket, dressed in his usual jeans and a dark tee-shirt.  

The cold didn't seem to bother him at all.  Surprise, surprise.  

Alien physiology wasn't without its little perks, it seemed.

Michael tore his gaze away from her after a while.  He glanced up at the sky and jammed his hands into his pockets.

"Orion is rising," he remarked.

Oh great, she thought.  Newsflash.  Orion was rising.  He'd dragged her all the way out to this god-forsaken spot with absolutely no explanation and all he could think to say was that.

Maria couldn't help herself.  She laughed.  The noise sounded harsh even to her own ears.

"What?" he asked, warily.

"Nothing."  She shook her head.  Her irritation with this whole exercise was growing by leaps and bounds.  "It's just that the idea of standing out here in the middle of nowhere, with you of all people, surfing the mellow beneath the stars isn't exactly..." she trailed off.

"What?" he asked again, almost aggressively this time.

"Well, it's not my typical Sunday night, you know?  I mean...it wasn't until recently that I could even picture you as a 'Cosmos' kind of guy.  And even then, it's only because of..."  She made a quick motion with her hand, pointing towards the sky.  "You know?"

"Yeah," he said, sounding pissed off now.  "I know."

"I guess, in retrospect, it all makes sense."  Maria forged on, despite his obvious anger.  "This particular situation is so not logical.  I keep wondering, 'Why am I here?'"

Michael pushed himself away from the jeep, letting his hands drop to his sides.  "You know what?  You're right.  It makes no sense at all."

He turned away and made as if to climb back into the vehicle.  "Let's go," he said.  "I can see this was a mistake."

A mistake?  Where _did he get off with this crap?  Now _she_ was pissed._

"Wait just a second, Michael."

He paused, looking back over his shoulder.

"This is your game, you know," she said.  "You'll have to excuse me if I don't know quite how to play it."

"It isn't a game."  He let go of the door, turning towards her.  "It's not something you play."

Not a game?  Who did he think he was he kidding?  

A hail of raw emotion pelted her at his arrogance.  All the things she'd tried to ignore or set aside over the past few weeks suddenly came upon her like a winter storm full of fury and discontent.

"I don't think so," she said, looking down at her hands.  They were shaking slightly with the strain.  

"Let's just consider the situation here.  You knocked yourself out last week with my shop assignment -- even going so far as to say 'thanks' after my little tirade.  But then you tell me afterwards that we're even -- that I shouldn't ever help you again, because you still can't afford to get involved.  That's until tonight, when you pick me up without so much as a simple hello, drag me out here to god knows where without even bothering to say why.  How am I supposed to feel about to that?"  

Maria heard the tremor in her voice, knowing she was close to losing it.  And why not?  She'd been cool about this for far too long.  Maybe it was his turn to deal for a change.

"You know, Michael, the 'layers of mystery' thing gets tired after a while."

"It was enough to catch your interest," he pointed out, cruelly.

"God, you still don't get it, do you?  Weren't we speaking English the last time I checked?  What part of, 'I thought you were going to die,' didn't you understand?"  

She made no effort now to hide her desperation.

"How could I _possibly_ refuse to help you if something else happens?" 

Tears suddenly spilled from her eyes.  Maria put a hand to her mouth, turning away, struggling for control. 

She had promised herself once when it all began that she would never cry in front of him...never expose herself that way.  Unfortunately, her heart wasn't dictated to that easily.  She slumped to the ground, immersed in a dark wave of humiliation and regret.

God, but it was cold out here.

Seconds passed.  Or perhaps minutes.  Hell, it could have been hours for all she knew.  Then, her senses registered the rustle of his thick-soled Sketchers on the grass behind her.

"Maria."

She quivered with unexpected pleasure at the sound of her name on his lips -- until she caught herself, thrusting an arm behind as if to ward him off.

"No," she whispered.

"Shhhh," he said, sinking down to the ground.  He reached his arms around her, pulling her close.  "It's okay."

"It isn't," she gasped, covering her face with both hands.  "It isn't okay."

"Please," Michael said.  "Just...don't say anything for a minute."

His hands spanned her waist before sliding around to the small of her back, kneading away the tension.  A thick layer of warmth spread over her at his nearness.  Maria knew instinctively that it must be due to his unique abilities.  No human metabolism could ever hope to be that efficient.  Still, the effect was soothing.  In spite of herself, she relaxed.

"I thought you told me you weren't that good at it," she said.  Sniffling, she wiped the tears from her face.

"I've been practicing."

Then, Maria felt the brush of his lips against her nape and was lost. 

Slowly, oh so slowly, Michael moved his mouth along the bend of her neck.  He traced the line of her jaw before nuzzling the sensitive hollow beneath her chin.

Her heart began to beat a little harder.

The cool night air blew across the open ground, but the heat around them was building effortlessly...intensely...the way it always did...sending a sparkle of raw awareness along her nerves. 

His touch was still so new to her.  Almost magical.  It was compelling in a way she didn't quite understand yet.  Forcing away the need for logic or rationality from all but the farthest reaches of her mind.

His mouth skimmed her throat, moving up to nip at the curve of her ear.  A sigh of longing escaped him.  Maria closed her eyes at the small, sensual sound.  The sights and scents of the desert all around them seemed to fade and slip away.  A heavy feeling took hold of her limbs, spreading in concert with the thick, liquid warmth between her legs.  

Giving in to the mysterious sensation was an impulse almost too tempting to resist.  Excitement consumed her, beckoning.  A sense of curiosity about what it would feel like to harness all the wild and reckless energy that was the heart of Michael's character.  Part of her wanted very badly to have it.  To hold it, understand it, before letting go and seeing just where it could take her.

He slipped his fingers beneath her chin, turning her head and tilting it back until his lips hovered just a fraction away from her own.

"Yes," she whispered.

The kiss was light; almost tentative.  Then it burned hotter, out of control, morphing into something far more extreme.

Michael drew on her mouth, sucking on her lower lip, sliding his tongue against hers in a bold display of his own need.

Unwittingly, Maria responded, matching his eagerness.  His fingers drew a scorching trail across her face, into her hair, holding her to him with a grip that was unbreakable.  

His legs were bent; thighs pressing close on either side of her.  She slid her hands over the rough denim of his jeans, gripping his knees firmly.

By now, they were both struggling for breath between kisses.  Maria shivered as she felt his free hand drift up...across her stomach...through the gaping lapels of the coat.  And then his fingertips traced randomly over the weave of her sweater before finally closing over one breast.

Michael had never done that to her before.  No one had.  The movement sent a bolt of pure, unadulterated pleasure streaking through her.  It clawed at her senses, somehow shocking her back to sanity.

"Oh my god," she gasped.  Stiffening, she pulled away from him.

He groaned, cursing softly.  Maria clutched her forehead with one hand, feeling suddenly bereft.  A few more minutes of this and who knew where it might lead?  She tried to remember why she'd stopped.  

A mistake, certainly.  Or was it?

Michael touched her shoulder.  Her head snapped up as she sensed his unspoken need for reassurance.  Forcing herself to relax, Maria allowed him to draw her close again.  She couldn't bring herself to resist, knowing somehow that she was safe -- that even he wasn't ready to pick up where they'd just left off.

"I'm sorry," she heard him say.  He drew his fingers through her hair, tucking the wayward strands behind her ear.  "I didn't want this.  It's not why I brought you here."

"Why _did_ you bring us out here, Michael?" she asked.  Maria was grateful that her voice sounded a lot steadier than she felt.  "The least you could do right now is tell me."

He didn't respond.  She felt his reluctance thrumming at her back like a live wire.  Typical Michael.  Getting right to the point and blurting out what he thought always seemed like second nature to him.  As long as it didn't involve his personal feelings.

She was astute enough to know that her inquiry was the mental equivalent of a tooth extraction for him.  Issues of extraterrestrial dentistry aside, Maria didn't see him yielding very easily.

So much of their communication thus far seemed based on a system that didn't involve words.  A fleeting look.  A brief physical contact.  Sometimes more than that.

Maria decided to take a shot at encouraging him in the only way she knew how.

She took hold of his hand--

--and the world around her suddenly shattered into a thousand pieces.

(To Be Cont'd)


	3. Conclusion

The effect was terrifying.  Like being thrust head-first through a high-speed blender of fantasy and reality.  It was impossible to distinguish between what was the truth and what was illusion.  Maria tried to scream, but there was no sound.  She tried to get up and run, but there was no movement.  

And then, unexpectedly, she emerged on the other side.  Into a region of blistering clarity -- trapped inside a vision of one of the most defining moments of her youth.

She saw herself at seven years old, outside the old ramshackle house on Alameda.

A brisk autumn wind blew down the street.  The dust that covered the front yard swirled around her feet and settled over the few pathetic marigolds her mother had planted around the front stoop.  

At that age, she was a tiny wisp of a thing, clad in purple leggings and a plain white tee-shirt.  She clutched a stuffed likeness of Tigger to her chest.  It was so well-loved that the fur was ragged and he was missing a tail.  Maria could remember just by looking at the younger version of herself that she cared not a bit about aesthetics where that particular toy was concerned.

It was late September.  And Daddy was leaving them today.

The little girl watched with a wistful expression as her father put the finishing touches on the load in the back of the old pickup.  She knew that Mommy was inside, crying -- and also that Mommy wasn't going to come out and make everything better this time.

Maria could still remember the feelings churning in her heart at that exact moment, as though it had happened only yesterday.  Sorrow, frustration.  Uncertainty and despair over her own role in this domestic drama.  Anger at her mother and her father.  Pride.  And a fierce, unshakable resolve not to say a single word when he left.

Even as a child, she could not bring herself to beg.

After a while, when he was finished, her father glanced toward her younger self.  His dark eyes were shadowed by the brim of his Stetson.  A sad, sad smile emerged on his face.  He walked over and stood before her, as though waiting for something.  

Maria closed her eyes at the sight of the two of them.  She remembered the combined scents of leather and cigarettes and horses and brandy.  Back then, they'd seemed to follow him just about everywhere....

The deep timbre of his voice startled her as he said:

"Daddy's got to say good-bye now, chilibean.  Remember to mind your mother, you hear?"

The girl blinked, silent, watching him turn away.  

He never said when he would be coming back.

Instead, her father climbed into the truck and drove off, leaving her to choke on a bitter mix of dry dirt and exhaust fumes.

Watching, Maria fought back tears.  She wanted desperately to go to the little girl and comfort her, telling her that she was going to make it.  That everything really would turn out okay.

She couldn't, though.  That was the burden of the past.  It never changed.  And regardless of what people said, you couldn't learn much from it.  No matter how badly she wished otherwise, the scene before her was essentially useless -- much like the illusion of her father's love.

And then the world suddenly shifted again, tilting off its axis and plunging her back through the whirl of sight and sound and sensation.

Images overlapped against the fabric her consciousness -- a series of stuttering freeze-frames, flipping from positive to negative and then back again.

Finally, the scene restructured itself into a completely new set of surroundings, even though she sensed the timing was the same.  Only now, Maria was no longer an outside observer.  By the oversized look of things, she must be viewing the action through the eyes of her younger self.

It took a moment to overcome the disorientation caused by the change in perspective.  Because everything always seemed so much _bigger_ when one was small.

She looked around, seeing that she was standing in some kind of corridor.  A series of closed doors at wide intervals were to her left.  A large bulletin board covered with notices was to her right.  The hall was lit with the harsh institutional glare of fluorescent lighting.  She could smell stale coffee.

There was a wooden bench next to the door nearest her.  Maria turned, looking at it, suddenly noticing that she wasn't alone.  A small boy was sitting there, regarding her intently.

She dropped Tigger to the floor in surprise.

He was about the same age, she guessed.  His clothes looked shabby and worn, but clean.  

However, the boy's short brown hair was a mess -- spiking out in all different directions.  His hazel eyes were dark with reluctant curiosity.  A small backpack sat next to him.  Somehow, she knew that it contained absolutely everything dear to him in the world.

Unsure of what to say or how to act, Maria stared back.  She felt stupid and not a little bit afraid.  She didn't know this place.  It seemed completely strange that she would find herself here.  Yet there was something achingly familiar about the boy.  He continued to watch her, legs swinging slightly where they hung over the edge of his seat. 

When she dropped the toy, he hadn't moved.  Now, he stood, unsettling her even more.

He walked the few steps that spanned the distance between them and bent down to retrieve Tigger.  

She backed away as he rose, wanting to snatch the thing away from him and hold it close -- her only source of comfort in this unfamiliar place.  He held it out, regarding her solemnly.

Maria took the Tigger, tucking it beneath her arm.  She offered him a tentative smile in return. 

And then Michael reached out to take her hand--

--as reality rushed up against her like the ground beneath a falling skydiver.

She was rigid with anxiety.  Tension ached in every limb as she fought to control the frantic beating of her own heart.  Gasping, Maria took several deep breaths.  She focused on the scents of earth and sage and dry grass, reminding herself of their true surroundings.

Michael was still holding her.  They remained sitting on the ground in the same place.  But he was trembling almost as violently as she was, caught up in the aftermath of whatever they had just experienced.  She was clutching his hand; fingers interlaced so tightly with his they ached.

"Michael?" she asked, uncertain.  "What...what happened?  What was that?"

"A vision," he said softly.  "I think."

"You think?"

He blew out a long breath.  "Yeah.  Max says we get them sometimes when things get...extreme."

"Oh."  Maria let go of his hand.  She winced at the pin pricking sensation in her fingers as circulation returned.  "Does it happen a lot?"

"I don't know.  That's the first time I've ever had one."

"Oh," she repeated, caught unawares by his answer.  "Okay."

He rested his forehead in the curve where her neck met her shoulder.  They sat like that for a while, thinking about what they had seen and what it all meant for them right now, in the present. 

She felt sure that was Michael as a child.  In the early stages of an endless cycle of shuffling to and from various foster homes.  No wonder he'd looked so miserable.  

As traumatic as the scene with her father had been, Maria knew she'd still had the comfort of her own mother to care for her.

The real question was, why had she and Michael shared a vision of each other, together, at such a significant time in their lives?  And why had the younger version of Michael reached out to her that way? 

Before Maria could ask, his fingers closed over hers again.

"You know, I really did bring you out here for a reason.  Maybe...the vision...I don't know..."

He paused and she waited, silent.

"I need to ask you something," Michael said, choosing his words, "but I'm afraid of what it'll mean if I do."

He took an unsteady breath and Maria wondered just what it was about her that made him so willing to do this.  To show his vulnerability this way.  She doubted he'd ever said these kinds of things to anyone in his life.

"What is it?" she asked.

He pressed his lips to the side of her neck one last time.  She shivered at the sensation.

"I want you to be my friend."

Many years later, after she had matured into adulthood and found a remarkable mixture of success and satisfaction in her life, Maria would look back on this moment.  She would realize that nothing -- not landing her first contract, not playing her first concert, not coaching Liz through her first delivery -- nothing would ever be quite as special as the very first moment when Michael Guerin had asked her to be his friend.  

In typical Michael-fashion, his request left so many things unsaid.  

"What do you need me for?" Maria asked, before she could stop herself.  "You have Max."  She wavered for a second.  "And Isabel."

He didn't respond.

"I mean, it _is_ all about the three of you, isn't it?"

"You said that once before," he reminded her.

"I know I did.  You never told me I was wrong."

"How could I?" said Michael.  His voice was muffled against her shoulder.  "Max and Iz and I are who we are.  That's something I can't change.  I wouldn't want to even if I could."

Maria knew that already, but he wasn't finished.

"They're the only family I have.  Max and Isabel are like a brother and sister to me..."

"And?"

"And it's just that it's always been a little more complicated than that," Michael said, sounding grim.

"Wait," she asked, wanting very much to keep the conversation going.  "How is it more complicated?"

He was silent for a while.  Finally, he said:

"I've spent a lot of time trying to catch up with them, you know?  Their life.  What they have.  What I don't.  After a while, it becomes more than a little lame sleeping on Max's floor.  But they're all I've got."

Michael paused.

"What I'm asking you," he went on, "what I want from you...it's something else.  Something that's mine.  That I don't have to share with Max or anyone.  Just you."

"Why me?" she persisted.  "Why not anybody else?" 

"I don't know.  Maybe there doesn't have to be a reason.  Maybe it's just the way things turn out.  I mean, does any of this make sense to you?"

"Nope," Maria said flatly.  "It never did."

He laughed; a rueful sound.

"But it doesn't have to make sense, Michael.  You told me once that I make you feel confused.  So what?  Teenagers aren't exactly known for their emotional stability.  Even the terrestrial ones."

"It's more than that." 

"More, how?"

"'Confusion' isn't exactly what I'd say now.  I guess...it's like...when you're _not around...I'm completely wrecked."_

"And when I am around?" she asked.

"It's a completely different kind of wrecked."

This time, _she_ was the one who laughed.  

Because there wasn't much left to say.  Knowing Michael as she did, his request actually made a certain sort of crazed sense.  And even though Maria would never admit it out loud, the idea held more than a little appeal for her.  Being his friend was something that she could have for herself too.  Something special.  Different from what she already had with Liz and Alex, and her mother and everybody else. 

He had taken this chance with her tonight.  She could do no less herself.

"Yes, Michael," she said, making up her mind.  "I'll be your friend.  I'll always be your friend."

She heard him take a deep breath and release it slowly.  His relief was almost palpable, though he didn't voice his thanks aloud.

This time, he didn't need to.

Maria felt the steady rise and fall of his breathing behind her.  She looked up at the twinkling stars.

"So...that's Orion," she remarked.  "The guy with the three stars on his belt and that little thingamajig hanging down."

"Sword," he corrected.

"Right."

"Actually," said Michael, giving her a quick hug, "you can see the whole winter circle overhead this time of year."

"The winter circle?"

"Uh-huh.  Capella, Aldebaran, Rigel, Sirius."  He called up the names of the brightest stars, pointing to them -- scattered like diamonds on the plush surface of a jeweler's velvet.

"Do you ever wonder which one of those might be yours?" she asked, when he was finished.

"I don't know," he said.  "Probably one of the smaller ones without a name.  Something unknown, waiting to be discovered."

He looked down at her.

"And full of possibilities."

"You might be right about that," she said, smiling to herself.

Then, Maria leaned her head back against his shoulder and savored their newfound affinity as time slipped away beneath the celestial dance of constellations in the night sky.

-fin


	4. Author's Note

A word about "Orion Rising":

This fic is actually three years old, and written at the close of "Roswell's" stellar first season.  Since then, it's been languishing on my web archive.

I posted it here as a sort of "test drive" on Fanfiction.net to get used to the process of uploading material and creating stories.  (I have some new moviefics that will be making their way here in the next few weeks).

I think it's pretty neat actually that "Orion" was able to find a wider audience at the same time.  So this is just a brief note of thanks to the people who were kind enough to read and review :)

-swik

"I've come to the conclusion that it can never happen.  I mean, human-alien relationships are bound to be disasters." -- Roswell 


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